


Who Held the Whole Cathedral in His Heart

by cereus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Churches & Cathedrals, Feuilly in contemplation, I don't quite know if I'm rating this right, Jehan in ecstasy, M/M, Romanticism, What's the equivalent of shameless M but for feels?, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9755570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereus/pseuds/cereus
Summary: ...So when Feuilly had extended an invitation to accompany him to mass, Jehan had been glad of the opportunity for a change of scene.  And for the chance to walk with him, arm-in-arm through the winding streets.Now Jehan stood side-by-side with him, warmed from within, and listened to the echoes.





	

_“Emítte lucem tuam, et veritátem tuam. Ipsa me deduxérunt, et adduxérunt in montem sanctum tuum, et in tabernácula tua.”_ The priest's deep voice rumbled forth from the front apse of the cathedral, bouncing off piers and vaults until it was edged with echoes like a stream running between cliffs.

It was only Jehan's knowledge of Latin and medieval customs that allowed him to fill in what was being said and follow along. He was not a regular attendant, but he was grateful to be here now. A morning at the Cafe Musain had allowed him to put the finishing touches on several pamphlets and a poem but left him worn. So when Feuilly had extended an invitation to accompany him to mass, Jehan had been glad of the opportunity for a change of scene. And for the chance to walk with him, arm-in-arm through the winding streets.

Now Jehan stood side-by-side with him, warmed from within, and listened to the echoes.

The light from one of the windows fell upon Feuilly, bathing him in a pool of vibrancy. Green lay over his shoulders like a mantle, and splashes of blue hid in his deep brown hair. And yet, was that not utterly appropriate? The two were kindred spirits – the world passed through him (How could it not when he welcomed it in so utterly?) and flowed out the other side more colorful than when it entered.

Jehan knew his hands were clumsy. He remembered a particular autumn morning he had spent in Feuilly's studio, the iron stove their mutual refuge from the morning's chill. Feuilly had offered him a brush and a scrap of paper to do whatever pleased him. He tried to capture a scene he had seen last evening. A shop-girl pausing in her sweeping to admire a passing butterfly. His hands shook so badly that after a while he threw the brush down in frustration and loosed a curse that hadn't been heard since the days of Malory. He half expected the same laughter that followed him most of his life, but Feuilly merely smiled and gestured towards Jehan's abandoned pen. When Jehan was done writing, Feuilly read the scene that Jehan had been trying unsuccessfully to paint. As his voice measured out the stanzas, Jehan could see that Feuilly understood. Between his pen and Feuilly's voice they had managed to capture the everyday beauties of Paris as much as others did with a brush.

He doubted his hands would be any more adept with glass cutters and pliers than they were with the brush. But gazing at Feuilly's face at this moment, half obscured by a wash of red, illuminated from within by the fervency of his prayers, Jehan yearned for that ability.

If he could he would craft a stained-glass window for each and every one of his friends. Oh for a cathedral to hold them! Or perhaps the Corinthe could become their cathedral and embrace their souls as well as it did their bodies. Enjolras would have great swathes of clear and pale yellow glass to allow the sunlight to shine in it's purest form. Bahorel would insist on nothing but shades of red most likely, and when others argued about whether such a composition was unfit, he would laugh wildly and say their argument was part of his composition too. Courfeyrac's window would be filled with all the roses and moonlit nights of the Spanish romances he sighed over. But to his mind, Feuilly's would be the most beautiful.

“Thou shall have no other gods before me.” And yet, wasn't this a foolish thing to command, when there were gods in every grove and spring? When Hephaestus existed in Greece and Nikkalu in Caanan?And when people shone so brightly with something close to divinity? How many people could God honestly expect to keep this commandment?

Perhaps he was more forgiving of understandable lapses than most priests were willing to admit.

“ _Benedícat vos omnípotens Deus, Pater, et Fílius, et Spíritus Sanctus.”_

They rose, the entire church filling with the soft rustles of fabric. Feuilly placed both hands on the wooden bar before him, pressing them subtly against the wood. There were still the remnants of streaks of color on them, flecks of paint worked into the creases.

Perhaps the most fitting design would be simply one of Feuilly's skillful hands - a rainbow pooled in its palm. Would such a thing be possible? To melt the edges of glass together, and do away with the need for the darkness of lead, making a pool of shifting color? If not now, such a technique should be invented quickly.

As the muscles moved subtly against the wood, it was as if Jehan could feel those hands against his own skin. Remembered how those fingers wound bandages, scribed pamphlets with bold lettering, mixed colors, grasped his shoulder and held him close.

“ _...ex voluntáte viri, sed ex Deo nati sunt.”_

The priest's words barely registered, and Jehan almost missed the last genuflection. Strange, since he had been tempted so many times to kneel.

“Deo grátias.” Feuilly's warm voice rang out among the rest of the congregants. And Jehan's heart agreed.

~

With this, the service ended, and the people began to rise and depart, in chatting clusters or as lone solemn figures. Feuilly glanced a question at Jehan and Jehan nodded and tilted his head towards the side door. They moved towards the door, which they knew opened out onto a tiny garden, little more than a couple of trees in a gap between buildings.

Feuilly walked with a steady tread, and with the small spring in his step that Jehan noticed he often had after Mass. But Jehan could feel himself trembling. Not just his hands, but his whole body. He felt like the colors had lodged themselves in his chest. Or maybe it was a kind of fire. Jehan pressed himself close to Feuilly's side to steady himself.

Feuilly turned his head towards him. “When you are like this, you usually have something to say.”

Jehan stopped suddenly and turned to face Feuilly, standing so close their scarves touched.

“I love you”

A smile crinkled the corners of Feuilly's eyes. The kind of smile that suggested he knew that already.

Somehow that made the fire burning inside his chest rise up more fiercely. Jehan tried to give that fire the proper words.

“I love you as much as I love God.”

Feuilly's eyes widened.

“Sometimes I think I would kneel and sing your praises. It does not seem polite to say so within His house, and I can understand if you find it blasphemous, but it is the truth,” Jehan rushed ahead, “And if your God did not want it so, why would he make us as he did?”

“You see God in everyone and embrace it” Feuilly took Jehan's hands in his, holding them tight. “Which is one reason why I cannot help but love you.”

Jehan closed his eyes and smiled.

“And besides,” said Feuilly, stepping through the door and drawing Jehan after him into the tree's shadow. “We aren't technically in God's house anymore, which I think was your intention in the first place...” a grin turned his features mischievous, “and mine as well.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually based on a drawing by the wonderful DomeDomini! Which in turn is based of a 'fic in Chinese. Since I'm not fortunate enough to be able to read fluently in Chinese, I couldn't read the original work. So think of this as one link in a crazy fandom game of telephone.
> 
> (http://domedomini.tumblr.com/post/155052544314/roseinapril-domedomini-feuillyprouvaire)
> 
> Nikkalu is also known as Nikkal... That's what you get for transliterating from an ancient language that didn't always put the vowels in if they were "obvious". :)


End file.
